All the Rage
by sendmenoflowers
Summary: A/U: Merlin and Arthur are tour guides at Camelot Vineyards. They fall in love over headsets and the grapes beneath their feet.
1. Chapter 1

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Camelot Vineyards. My name is Arthur and I will be your tour guide today. I'd like you to pay close attention because, while there won't be a quiz, the information I give you today will make you sound like the smartest person at your next dinner party. However, apart from the wine details, you're on your own."

This earned a small chuckle from the older couples and he smiled in spite of himself. Merlin was always after him to joke more.

"If you could please look to your left. Now, there are many names for this grape. My favorite is 'beaunois' which, loosely translated, means 'beautiful meadow'. Though most refer to the more commercial name of the simple, 'Chardonnay'. And this actually is the most mysterious grape of all those in our vineyard. Its origin is technically unknown..."

"Arthur!" a voice crackled through his headset. Merlin must either be on his lunch break or else ignoring his duties. Both were extremely likely possibilities.

"Now some say these grapes originated in the Middle East while others believe it is indigenous to a vine in Cyprus."

"Arthuuuur," it was a little more insistent this time and Arthur heard a giggle in the background. Merlin must be in the gift shop.

"If you like, feel free to step off the bus and sample a few grapes. But don't stray too far as we will only be stopped for five minutes. If you'd rather stay on the bus, you will not miss anything as we will have samples of both the grape and wine tonight at 6 o'clock."

People milled around Arthur's bus, some stepping off, some moving a few seats to speak to a friend they spotted or whatever it was people did. He smiled widely at those who were stepping off and he hissed into his headset, "what?"

Merlin was there on the other line within milliseconds, "Gwen is having a thing tonight. Do you want to come?"

"Can't. Dinner with Morgana," and it was such a shame because if there was one part of his job he actually enjoyed, it was Gwen's parties. There was always plenty of alcohol that was not wine and there were plenty of people who were not currently old and also not currently studying for finals, like his friends who were still in university.

"Well, bring her." And of course Merlin would suggest that. Bring his younger, cooler, sluttier sister to meet all his friends. Because that had turned out so well all the other times.

"Merlin, no! It's my birthday dinner. It's the only time she actually pays for her own meal. I can't pass that up." This was true. Morgana never paid for anything when he was around. And unfortunately, he was around a lot.

"Pleeeeeeeease," he whined. And Arthur could picture his face, the soft pout of his mouth and the over exaggerated eyelash flutter that worked anyways because Merlin did have great eyelashes.

"Ugh. Fine. Now stop interrupting my tours." He took his finger off the ear piece and smiled at all the tourists stepping back onto the bus. He did a head count and signalled to the driver to move on.

There was a time, not long ago, when Arthur would have spent more time arguing. He had learned, though, that Merlin always won. He stopped contesting, except to go through the motions.

He discovered that when Merlin won these little tugs of war, he slapped on the biggest smile and Arthur didn't mind in the least that he had just signed up for rock climbing or volunteering at the soup kitchen or the cupcake tasting. And okay, the last one was pretty awesome.

Merlin and Arthur were good friends. Some would say almost too good. But you couldn't help who you worked with. And Arthur couldn't help that Merlin was the most tolerable, and also most _insistent_ on being friends with everyone.

Merlin swindled everyone into lifelong friendships. It was his easy grin and large ears - too silly looking to be intimidating that did everyone in.

Once Merlin had a friend, he proceeded to ruin their lives with his bad music choices and that same Bambi face and those stupid Dumbo ears. Never before had Arthur related any of his friends to Disney characters, much less twice in one sentence.

But as Merlin hummed a song into Arthur's ears, something he did when he walked, and Arthur realized Merlin hadn't turned his microphone off once again... Arthur found he didn't mind so much.

As a whole, Merlin was unassuming and people often felt the need to protect him.

Arthur liked to think he was above it all. But he wasn't.

Merlin's tours were much less... structured... Than Arthur's. As long as everyone got the basic 'please, thank you, look to your right' down, Gaius and Uther didn't really mind how the tours were run. And while Arthur liked to believe he had the monopoly on wine wisdom, Merlin himself knew quite a bit.

"These red grapes on your left make the Syrah. Which is fantastic, by the way. Most people say Syrahs are the most peppery of all the wines, but ours is actually much milder than your ordinary Cab Sav."

He smiled at Percy and Leon, two regulars at the resort who, for some reason, took the tour each month. You think it would get boring by now. Merlin knew all about them. They chatted quite a bit at the wine tastings and then when they cheated and progressed from tipsy drunk to shit show drunk, Arthur would help Merlin bring them back to their cabin.

"Ah, now this wine here will get you the drunkest you have ever been in your life. And let me tell you, it doesn't taste quite as lovely the second time around," the husbands laughed at that as well as Leon and Percy. Merlin decided they were probably his favorite regulars. They had been married for four years and had an adoptive baby on the way.

Whenever Merlin was done a tour with Leon and Percy, they stayed behind to chat with Arthur. Arthur told him once that they propositioned him.

Merlin didn't blame them.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sure you all remember Merlin from last night's wine tasting and also from breakfast this morning," Arthur started. The group on his bus erupted into laughter at this.

Apart from everyone always remembering Merlin because he was Merlin, he was making quite a spectacle of himself the night before.

Their job at wine tastings was to pass out drinks and tell others off for drinking the wine instead of tasting and spitting. Merlin called it cheating.

Arthur found that amusing, since Merlin did quite a bit of it himself. The large room was full of everyone from their tours earlier that day as well as some who had just checked in to the resort and would be taking the tour the next day. As was custom, there were several cups lined up on the front tables. One cup with a few grapes, one cup with the wine that was made from them. Merlin and Arthur were meant to pass them out to each person as Gaius explained the different processes involved in making each wine.

They were on the fourth wine when Arthur noticed that Merlin had been drinking all the extras.

The majority of the patrons noticed as well, especially when he started flirting. He started with Leon and Percy and eventually ended with Mrs Hutton, a VIP customer.

Merlin was a better drunk than most thought he would be. He didn't fall over or take his top off, but he always spoke a little louder and giggled a lot more. Arthur supposed several years of tolerance had been built up since Merlin had started the job.

However, Merlin on wine was different than Merlin on wine PLUS vodka.

Merlin had a habit of getting black out drunk whenever he went to Gwen's. Arthur had come to expect it.

Last night had been no different. When Merlin stood up calmly at breakfast that morning, walked over to the garbage can and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach and what looked like a few non-essential organs, Arthur wasn't surprised. And that was how Merlin would forever be known to this group of customers.

"Merlin says this is the best place on the vineyard. I prefer the hectares of Merlot, to be honest. However, if you're up for it, there is a basin of grapes waiting to be squished by your bare feet. There are also galoshes, if you wish," While feet-squishing was not a common practice anymore, Gaius found it was a great tourist attraction. Most other vineyards did not have this as an option.

Arthur ushered his group out, looking forward to the end of his tour.

He had a headache. It had less to do with the alcohol from the night before and more to do with the way Merlin's hand had found his as they walked home last night.

Still, once the tour was over, he had to go to the staff room and eat his lunch in the presence of Merlin who, miraculously, was still alive and working.

He could only hope that Gwen and some of the others would be present. Arthur did a quick mental count.

Gaius would be in his office; Uther was rarely ever at the vineyard; Sophia and Viv preferred not to eat in the staff room. Gwaine would be there, at least. Gwaine was always in the staff room.

However, he didn't plan on Lance being there, chatting happily away with Gwen, who was now a lovely shade of pink.

"What's he doing here?" Arthur asked gruffly. While there was no vineyard policy against it and Gaius and Uther were old friends with Cenred, Arthur still considered this to be fraternizing with the enemy.

Lance, technically, worked for the competition.

Gwen was well aware of the implications of this. Despite being in _love_ with Lancelot, she was always up for bashing Escetian Vineyards.

Arthur put the kettle on and pulled two mugs from the cabinet to prepare tea, never turning his back on Lancelot. That was a sign of submission.

"He's thinking of defecting," Gwen informed him.

See? With the war metaphors and everything. He wasn't the only one who believed they should each stick to their own vineyards.

"Oi! What's he doing here?" As he entered the scene, the look of outrage on Merlin's face was dampened as he had his pant legs rolled up, shins covered in grape juice. Merlin was happy to demonstrate grape-squishing for his group, but Arthur always abstained. He found the practice absurd and outdated.

"Thinking of defecting," Arthur repeated. He stirred his tea violently as he glared at Lance.

"I don't trust him," Merlin took the mug of tea proffered to him and stood next to Arthur, joining in on the glares.

And Arthur supposed Lance being there was a bit of a good thing, just this once, if it meant he and Merlin had something to focus on other than what certainly did NOT happen last night.

He and Merlin were grown men. Grown men did not hold hands with each other unless it was to help them up over the edge of a cliff or to shake hands at first meeting. And they certainly didn't enjoy it. Arthur was not in love with his best friend. He wasn't.

He wished he could be more convincing. But unfortunately, he was aware of everything going on inside his mind. That made it difficult to ever be fooled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Merlin! I am the greatest person that has ever walked this grape-filled spot of land!" Arthur shouted down the hallway, barging into his and Merlin's accommodations.

At the edge of the resort, furthest from the actual vineyard, were six cabins. They housed twelve employees, for when they had that many. Gaius had a bunk above his office and also a house down the road with his wife.

Each cabin had two levels, with a large kitchen, bathroom, and living room on the main floor, and about five bedrooms on the top floor. They were big enough to house twenty but never had the need for it. There were six regular employees, all that were needed to run tours and tastings and a gift shop.

When Arthur first started he had a cabin to himself. After about a year, Gaius realized he and Merlin were becoming close friends and suggested they just choose a cabin and be roommates.

It had been three years. Arthur and Merlin shuffled rooms around a lot to prevent boredom. Arthur was currently roomed in the loft, glass walls looking out onto the living room. He had to draw the royal blue curtains at night so nobody could see into his room but during the day it got the most light.

"If I ignore you, will your big head just float you upstairs? Or do I have to inject it with a bit of helium first?" Merlin yelled back. He was flipping through a Vogue magazine, presumably to determine what color of scarf was in this month. Merlin was heavily into scarves.

"We got the week off," Arthur was now in the kitchen, shedding his jacket onto the nearest chair.

"Are you serious?" Merlin asked. He had been bugging Gaius to give them a week off for ages. They had planned a sightseeing trip to Barcelona that might have been a fancy way to say 'We're driving down to see Barce play in the football finals this year and want to take a week so it seems like that's not all we're doing.'

Arthur nodded, the most manic grin he'd ever grinned, plastered on his face. Despite having lived in France for five years, neither of them had ever travelled farther than Lyon, a pitiful thirty miles from the heart of Beaujolais; the place they had come to think of as home.

Gaius had never allowed them to take a vacation at this time of year before. Always in November, and they either went back to the United Kingdom or took Gwaine's tours every day and laughed at him. And they had never complained, for they enjoyed their jobs and the company they kept. They enjoyed working five days a week on small buses and riding their bikes across the resort to get to work and living a quiet life in their cabin and socializing with a few select friends and coworkers.

They understood that the summer was a busy time with big rushes of travelers and tourists and old couples getting the full worth out of their summers. His parents used to go to vineyards to "rekindle their flame" about once a year, before they both passed away. Merlin's mother didn't drink wine. She came to visit at least eight times per year, to stay with Merlin and squish grapes with him. Arthur sat on the bench and waited for them to get their hippy instincts under control.

But they wanted to see a football game in Barcelona and cheer them on from better seats than their couch. And what was the point of going to see them play if they had to sit in freezing cold weather if it wasn't even finals?

So Arthur had finally convinced Gaius to let them both go at once. It would be up to Gwaine to train the summer staff, which may now include Lance – a possibility they didn't like thinking about.

"Barcelona?" Merlin had finally put down the magazine and was looking at Arthur with hopeful eyes.

And then the possibility, the reality of it startled him. He and Merlin always talked about it. But they would be sharing a hotel room. Arthur had a hard enough time keeping his hands to himself in such a large house. What, then, when they shared one room, one bathroom, slept in such close proximity?

But then Merlin jumped up and hugged him and he thought, _fuck it._

He was going to tell Merlin that he was in love with this Disney character, hippy roommate of his and that Merlin's ears were ridiculous but that didn't mean he wasn't constantly thinking of tugging on them with his teeth or just pouncing on him while they were having Doctor Who marathons or just sabotaging all Merlin's relationships and then walking around naked until _he_ pounced. He might hold off on telling Merlin that he wanted to do those things, though. One thing at a time. And he certainly wouldn't mention anything of the life-long variety, although that was his most thought-of thought.

"Barcelona!"


	4. Chapter 4

_For Yerrie, because I basically love you._

The plan was this: rent a car; drive down to Barcelona with a slight detour to Bordeaux (which Merlin didn't know about yet); rent a hotel room; do some sight-seeing, which was really just a bonus; and go to the Barcelona/Madrid game before heading back.

Bordeaux was the only reason they were allowed to go. Merlin didn't know about this yet. But Arthur had convinced Gaius that going to Bordeaux and seeing how things were run by Morgause and Nimueh the vineyard operators for Mercia. It was the most well-known vineyard in miles and while Escetian Vineyards was their immediate competition, this was their biggest competition in all of France would help their bookings and improve the future of Camelot.

Gaius appraised him for his ambition and recommended he take Merlin since Merlin was better at the whole people-relations thing and Arthur would need company if their 'cover' was going to be convincing. Merlin and Arthur had a tour booked at Mercia Vineyards, but Merlin didn't know that yet. Arthur wondered how he would feel about them being 'a gay couple' for a few days. Maybe he would be fine with it. After all, they were both gay. Just... singular gay, not plural.

"Did you find my ID yet?" Merlin asked. There was a slight crinkling noise in the background. Of course he would leave Arthur to find his ID. Merlin would would lose his arms if they weren't attached so nicely.

"No. It has to be in your room," and that was where Arthur drew the line at searching. He believed in boundaries.

Ever since Arthur had come through the door with the news, Merlin and Arthur had been counting the days until their trip. As it stood, there were three days left.

Arthur had started packing almost immediately, searching the house for road trip supplies. Passports, ID, money stashed in tins and drawers, everything he could think of.

Merlin had already ventured outside the vineyard to purchase his idea of supplies - gummy bears, crisps, Oreos, fizzy drinks. Arthur went out and bought apples. Merlin liked bananas but he didn't think he could cope with that on the small amount of sleep they would get.

He was on his third tour of the day, having just eaten lunch and Merlin was already interrupting him through the headset.

"By the way, how did you convince Gaius to let us go?" It sounded like Merlin was chewing something now and given the clues, Arthur guessed he had broken through the first package of gummy bears. Arthur had time to spare and decided to humor him. Or rather, humor himself.

"Told him you were having a quarter life crisis and I needed to take care of you." Merlin scoffed, "Me? Having a mid-life crisis! What about you?"

"Please, Merlin. I'm too well adjusted; no one would ever believe that." And of all the things about Arthur's personality, credit could be given to him for believing whole-heartedly that such a thing existed.

"You see a psychiatrist every Sunday," Merlin reminded him. Not like he could forget. It was an hour long bike ride each way to the closest Anglophone psychiatrist. He could speak French. He had to for his job. But whenever he was off duty or in town with Merlin, his favorite phrase seemed to be "Je ne comprende pas, je suis Anglais," and he let Merlin take the reins on French speaking.

"Which is why I'm well adjusted," he argued. After all, if either of them were going to be well adjusted, shouldn't it be someone who was loved well by his parents before they died tragically, as opposed to someone who never even knew his father and had also never been to a psychiatrist?

"Your parents died in a car crash." And when they died, Arthur knew they loved him and he knew they knew that he loved them. There were no regrets on either end. Of course he would miss them, but it had happened a long time ago,

"So were Lily and James Potter, okay?" People were clambering back on to Arthur's bus and he was probably supposed to stop arguing now but he kept at it.

"For the last time, you are not a wizard!" It was a conversation they had regularly. Arthur had always been lucky. Sometimes, usually under the influence of alcohol, he though that it was more.

"How would you know, _Mer_lin?" And sometimes when he was sober, he did it just to rile Merlin up. He could picture the frustrated blush creeping up the back of Merlin's neck and suddenly wanted to be off the bus and back in the lunch room with Merlin very, very badly.

"Because there's no such thing." which was slightly true. Arthur believed in luck, though. He believed the universe had a plan and he believed small magic existed. Mostly magic that made it possible for two people to be together all their lives, like his parents.

"Whatever, muggle. My Hogwarts letter just got lost in the mail," and this was his usual comeback, which Merlin had no response for except-

"You're delusional."

"You're just jealous because you're a muggle and I have magic." And that was completely inaccurate, he thought. Because if Arthur believed in small magic, the thing he believed most was that Merlin held a magic that was all his own.


	5. Chapter 5

For Nanna because she loves Gwaine (and still for Yerrie because she is still my favorite.)

Also sorry I was absent, I went back home for a couple days to visit my family. But the good news is I wrote about three and half chapters while I was away. Yay?

...

It rained. It wasn't supposed to.

Merlin awoke with the first drops and forced himself out the door and onto his bike. Merlin and Arthur had left their buses uncovered the night before. They would be flooded by the time they got in for their first tours at ten.

It had happened before. They had had to sweep the water off the side and then mop up the mess and towel dry the seats. It hadn't been fun, to say the least.

Merlin liked to think the only way he could have arrived faster is if he had been riding Shadowfax (with Gandalf's permission, of course. You should never take a wizard's horse without asking).

Gwaine was there, the tarp already up over the top of his bus. It appeared he and Arthur weren't the only ones. Gwaine, in a rare fit of chivalry, offered to help Merlin with his and Arthur's buses. He accepted gratefully and they made quick work of the tarps. They covered the tour buses quite well and still allowed customers to see out the "windows" at the vineyard.

When he got back, he was tired. It was still 5am and he didn't need to be awake for four hours. Arthur was shoving his feet into wellies, hopping around the porch from side to side.

"Already done," Merlin yawned at him. Arthur stopped hopping and shrugged, following him back into the house.

"Night," Arthur said when they separated at the top of the stairs.

"Night." Arthur woke up at nine. He was still wearing his boots.

Half of the customers called in and canceled their trips.

Rather than have all the buses half empty, Arthur offered to take Merlin's group off his hands and divide them between he and Gwaine. Merlin was happy to oblige.

Merlin loved giving tours, of course. He was a people person. But they were leaving for Barcelona tomorrow. He hadn't packed anything except the few necessary items Arthur had found. And yes, after some extraneous begging, Arthur DID search Merlin's room for his ID. He eventually found it in a shoebox next to an old pair of Converse. Arthur spared him the lecture but not the disapproving look.

Merlin headed back to the house but found he couldn't focus without Arthur keeping him on task. He was doing really well but then he found an old CD he had lost and started listening. An hour later, was packing again and doing well until he couldn't find his green shirt and went looking in Arthur's room for it because Arthur sometimes stole it. It wasn't there but he got sidetracked by all the pictures on his wall. His parents, his sister, Merlin, Gwen.

He had his entire life on these walls in near sequential order. Merlin was glad he was part of it. That got him wondering if he had any pictures of Arthur or if he should purchase a new camera (or find his old one) and take some pictures of the trip.

He found himself giving up and going back to the vineyard to take Gwaine's next tour. He hadn't taken one of Gwaine's tours since he and Arthur had their flight back home cancelled last November.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, I'm glad you could all make it today. For those of you who are new to Camelot Vineyards, my name is Gwaine. For those regulars of ours, welcome back." Gwaine continued to give a little history on Camelot and how it came to be. Merlin wondered if Arthur did this, too. Was everyone so technical except for him?

He pressed line one on his headset and dialed Arthur's extension from his pocket radio.

He heard the click which meant he was connected to Arthur's ears and he began describing everything Gwaine was doing, asking Arthur if he did the same.

"Why don't you just take one of my tours, Merlin?" he sighed.

"Because I'm always on my own tour." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it might as well have been.

Arthur and Merlin always coordinated their schedules to have the same exact hours spent at work and the same hours at home. He was surprised neither of them had been murdered yet.

"It's never stopped you from calling in the middle of it, why not just skip your tour altogether one day?"

"Oh my god. Arthur."

"What? I didn't think that was offensive, was it offensive?"

"No. Gwaine is flirting with a girl on his tour. It's so terrible. I'm glad I chose this tour today." Because seeing Gwaine flirting was not rare, by any means, but it was always hilarious when the girl fell for his lines.

Among his favorites were:

_You know, I also give private tours. Mostly of the vineyard but we can skip it and go to my house instead if you like._

_Your eyes are the exact color of my favorite Chardonnay._

_Now that I've wined you, what do you say to the dining and 69ing part?_

Arthur snickered along with him as he repeated the story and he lamented not to be there with Merlin.

After the tour, Gwaine stood in the staff room asking Merlin if his cologne would be good enough for the date - yes, the line had worked - or if he should go shower and change and reapply.

At first Merlin was just wafting towards himself and then Gwaine encouraged him to "stick his face all up in there," so he did.

...

It was this scene which Arthur arrived onto; Merlin's face in Gwaine's neck and the both of them laughing. Gwaine passed Merlin a cup of tea and Merlin assured Gwaine he smelled "really nice, actually. It's working for me."

Gwaine laughed and asked Merlin if he would rather go on the date with him. Merlin blushed and then looked away and saw Arthur. He was slightly gobsmacked at this conversation, wondering if this was actually happening.

He turned around and walked back out the door. He would just spend an hour or two away from Merlin and then he would be okay. Obviously Gwaine didn't mean anything by it. But the blush on Merlin's cheeks had been unmistakeable and even though he wasn't Arthur's it still set him off in a fit of rage.

Arthur wasn't home when Merlin got there. It wasn't like him to be absent; Merlin usually found him in the kitchen making dinner. However, he wasn't anywhere and the house was cold. If Arthur had been here recently, he would have turned the heat on. And the house held on to the heat for at least six hours. Arthur disappeared out of the staff room three hours ago.

He hadn't thought anything of it at the time and stayed with Gwaine until his next tour, at which point he harassed Gwen for two hours in the empty gift shop and then made his way home. Where Arthur wasn't.


	6. Chapter 6

He found him in the Merlot vineyard, picking bad grapes off the vines furiously. This wasn't Arthur's job, clearly. But Merlin had learned that pruning calmed Arthur. Maybe he should quit the vineyard business and become a gardener.

"Arthur?" his voice was tentative. He hadn't seen Arthur like this, ever. Morgana had told him what he was like after his parents died, that he had greeted that news with a stony resolve. That is, until Morgana gave him a hug, about a week after the funeral. Then he broke into tears on her shoulder and didn't stop for three weeks. He didn't know if this would be easier or harder to deal with.

Arthur looked almost... unhinged. It could be dangerous. Merlin didn't know how to deal with this. He wasn't used to Arthur having complex emotions. Usually, he came into the house and said "I'm pissed," then launched into a story of his day.

On the last anniversary of his parents' death, he came home to Arthur sitting on the couch and staring blankly at the television. Merlin sat down beside him and hugged him and Arthur said, "I don't know how to deal with this."

And even that was better than this. This jumble of stress and frustration and anger and sadness building up on Arthur's face.

"So is Gwaine fucking guys now?" Arthur turned on him and threw the most recent grape to the ground.

Merlin held up his hands in a sign of surrender. Sometimes it was best to give up before anything even started.

"He has a date tonight with a girl from the tour." When Arthur only turned back to the grapes and started picking again, Merlin decided to take a guess on what was bothering him.

"Do you like Gwaine? Is that was this is about?" He stepped on a grape Arthur had thrown earlier as he backed away, almost ready to run. The idea that Arthur might be irreconcilably in love with someone who was permanently unavailable (and who also was not Merlin) broke his heart.

"No, I don't like Gwaine. I can barely stand talking to him, why would I like him?" More grapes on the ground but then he was moving toward Merlin.

"I just wish I could..." He was so close. Merlin could see each individual blonde eyelash, long and resting against his cheeks. He could see that Arthur was soaked and shaking and just wanted to get him back home where it was warm and familiar. They rarely spent time actually inside a row of grape vines and Merlin found it disconcerting.

"What?" He almost forgot that Arthur had started a sentence until he was searching Merlin's face. Then Arthur looked up at him and, seeing something which was unclear to Merlin, decided to abandon his previous train of thought. He stepped to the side and went past Merlin.

"Let's go home. You still need to pack."

And that was completely true. Thank God Arthur would keep him on track. But he kept focusing on Arthur. He wished what?

That Gwaine wasn't going on a date tonight? For world peace? That they didn't have to leave the vineyard, even if it was for just a week? That he had better pajamas? There were so many endings a sentence could have.

It wasn't good to leave something so vague so unfinished.

It left Merlin to think about the things he wished for. He wished he could tell Arthur he didn't want to lose him, ever. He wished he could tell Arthur he was possibly, maybe, just a little bit in love with him. He wished he didn't live so far away from his mother and that he got to spend more time with Gwen.

He wished Arthur would look at him as more than just his friend.

And now, despite being completely worn out, Merlin knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight.

And he wished he could.


	7. Chapter 7

"Merlin, you're holding it upside down," Arthur grabbed the map from his hands and turned it around.

"Eyes on the road!" Merlin shouted back. Arthur's eyes had shifted off the road at least seven times in the past hour.

Merlin was beginning to seriously question his safety. It was something he often did while in the vicinity of Arthur, but usually it was more of a one-sided-sexual-tension-I-might-combust type of safety that everyone experienced at least once in their life. This time, he feared for his actual security of life. Arthur did not drive like a person that was sane.

"You're going the wrong way!" Merlin yelled now. And Arthur had a few issues with that because he was going in the right direction, Merlin just didn't know this yet.

"No, Merlin. We're not."

"Yes, we are," and contrary to his earlier request of Arthur keeping his eyes on the road, he pushed the map in front of his face and pointed.

"This road takes us southwest, to Barcelona. _This_ road, which is the road we are _currently _on, takes us northwest, and that just won't do."

"Gaius didn't tell you, did he?" Arthur cringed, expecting the worst. Obviously it wasn't Gaius' responsibility to tell Merlin where they were going, but it was a hell of a lot easier than Arthur accepting blame for lying.

"We're not going to Barcelona, are we?" Merlin asked. He seemed almost resigned to the fact, as if he could go anywhere. And of course he'd love to go to Barcelona but what was the point of arguing when Arthur had the wheel?

"We are still going to Barcelona, we're just going to Bordeaux first." he braced himself again. He knew what Merlin was like.

"And what ex_ac_tly are we doing in Bordeaux?" he asked, a previously unknown venom creeping into his voice.

"Just um. Pretending to be a gay couple from England on their honeymoon and spying on Mercia for Gaius," he said it quickly, as if he knew what was coming next. Which, to be fair, he did.

Merlin started hitting him with the open map and when that proved to be wholly ineffectual, he used his fists. He hit Arthur on the arm, the leg, the solar plexus, anywhere but the face. He was driving, after all. And Merlin would hate to cause irreparable damage.

Arthur started hitting back, one-handed, trying to look ahead but failing as he aimed his blows impeccably.

"Ten and two! Ten and two!" Merlin shouted. And when Arthur turned back to the road, he could have sworn he saw Merlin, from the corner of his eye, smile behind the map he was pulling back up to his face.

"If you disappear on this _honeymoon_, do you think anyone will notice?" Merlin asked darkly.

"I think you'd notice. Very much." Arthur nodded like a very self-assured individual and wondered how Merlin would get along without him, if it came to that.

If there was one thing he knew for certain about that scenario, it was that Merlin would never ever find his keys.

...

And Merlin sat beside him and thought, I could never let you leave. Who would find my keys?

And he thought, vaguely, that it was much more than the keys and the finding things and the fact that he always had the heat on because he knew Merlin got cold and it somehow was just... Arthur. All of him.


	8. Chapter 8

They were a convincing couple. It wasn't the fake smiles and snuggling they did a lot of at check-in; it was the easy grace with which they moved around each other on a day-to-day basis.

Arthur and Merlin were as familiar with each other as anyone could be. They laughed at jokes nobody else understood and sometimes Arthur wrinkled his nose at the silly things Merlin did and Merlin sometimes bumped his shoulder into Arthur's. Maybe just to let him know he was there or maybe just as an excuse to touch him or maybe just because that's what people did.

Morgause was intimidating and scary and kept saying they were darling. Nimueh kept at a distance but when they crossed paths, she sighed at them and kept moving. A few times Arthur suspected they might know they were spies. But they never said anything.

Whatever they were doing, it worked. What didn't work was trying to sleep. It was hard to explain why a honeymooning couple would want separate beds so they bit the bullet and decided to take one bed.

Arthur spent the whole of every night restraining himself from touching Merlin; loving the feel and warmth of him so close by, like a Sunday morning on the couch but with too much intimacy.

Merlin spent the whole night pretending to be asleep. He could only think of Arthur's breaths behind him and of the closeness and he hated not being able to take advantage of it.

And it was over too soon. They had gathered little information, too caught up in themselves and each other to notice anything that could help them back at Camelot, a place which now seemed an ocean away.

Arthur drove again. He was beginning to question his sanity, after three days of not sleeping and of being so much closer to Merlin and now being back in the car with him, Merlin shoving maps and Pringles in his face every two minutes.

...

Arthur thought sleeping next to Merlin in the same bed had been difficult. But the truth was now that he'd had it, it was even harder to sleep separately.

He could feel Merlin from across the room; one of them was a ball and the other was the chain and while he didn't know who was which, he was pretty sure it ended with him being miserable either way.

Merlin flipped onto his back, exhaled sharply. Arthur stopped practicing for the Olympics of wall-staring and turned over to face him. He saw Merlin's profile, sharply lit by the meager light outside.

The strong slope of Merlin's long nose, the fringe on his forehead which Arthur knew was soft, the hard set of his jaw. He couldn't see Merlin's cheekbones or his eyelashes but he filled in the blanks. As if everything about him _hadn't_ been memorized for the last three years, though. As if Merlin's face wasn't stuck on the back of his eyelids whenever his eyes closed. As if he could ever forget anything about the man.

He found that he had no idea how he felt about Merlin. Of course, he was completely in love with the idiot. But he was infuriating. He was too different from Arthur. He was still young at heart and not yet weighted down by the world as Arthur was.

He feared that if he began anything with Merlin, he would tear Merlin down. Not protect him like he had been attempting for the past years. But Merlin loved adventure; he craved it. And when Arthur suggested just staying in, Merlin decided that no, he'd much rather go for a walk on the dangerous roads late at night where anything could happen.

And of course Arthur had to go. He couldn't leave Merlin alone like that. And he didn't want to. For whatever conflicting emotions arose in Arthur, above everything else he wanted to be by Merlin's side, constantly. He would follow. He just didn't think he could forgive himself if he went for it. If he found out Merlin felt anything for him beyond friendship. Arthur didn't know what he would do if or when he finally had Merlin. He'd probably fuck everything up.

So apart from being in love with Merlin, he didn't much know what that meant for either of them.

Merlin turned to face him with an annoyed creak of the bed. And then it was blue eyes on blue and Arthur wanted to look away but he couldn't. It seemed that, where Merlin was concerned, his life was full of wants and unables. Yearns and couldn'ts. Needs and never haves.

It killed him just a little.


	9. Chapter 9

If you asked them now, Arthur and Merlin wouldn't even remember how the football match ended. All they remembered was the moment somewhere in the middle when they were screaming and cheering Barca on and Merlin said "Arthur, I have to tell you something!"

And Arthur sipped his drink, even though the car ride there had already ensured his status as a lifetime diabetic. He nodded for Merlin to go on.

"I don't really like football," he shouted.

What?

Arthur turned to face him, his eyes searching Merlin's face for any sign of a joke.

Merlin had never said anything directly to him, but he had overheard Merlin saying to Gwen once, after a few of the seasonals at the vineyard had played a game with Arthur, "God, I love football."

But if he didn't like it, why would he say that? And why didn't he say anything all those times they'd watched a match on television?

"But I only bought the tickets because I thought you wanted to come." Arthur sounded so sad, now, that Merlin wanted to say fuck it, and just lie.

But he stayed silent. He had promised himself that on this trip, he would come clean to Arthur about one thing.

He had planned on telling him the whole love-you-more-than-Tom-Hanks-loved-Meg-Ryan-in-You've-Got-Mail thing. But he choked. He thought maybe he could do it back home. Where it was safe and known. Here was unfamiliar territory.

This was the only other secret he had from Arthur so he had to tell him that, at least.

When Merlin was a kid, he pushed the neighbor into the pond because he said something cruel about his mum. He denied it to his mother, and she instantly believed him over the other boy, who had always been a bit of a problem.

His mum had stood up for him, going so far as to call the other boys mum a liar and Merlin had felt guilty for a long long time. It took him five weeks before he told his mum the truth.

She made him go over to the neighbors and tell his mum the truth and apologize for lying, and for the actual fact of pushing him into the pond next to their house.

The boy never let him live it down.

He couldn't keep secrets. The secret of being in love with Arthur had been eating him up inside. For three and a half of the four years he had known Arthur, he'd been arse over tits for him.

And he knew he had to tell him soon because he was running out of will power. If he didn't tell Arthur soon, he would probably spontaneously combust or just explode and tell him everything and it would come out creepy and wrong.

While it would probably kill him when Arthur said he didn't feel the same - and how could he? - he knew he had to tell him anyways. What happened would be up to Arthur.

Merlin knew he would still stick around and be Arthur's friend and pretend it never happened. If that was what Arthur wanted.

He hoped Arthur would still want that, at least.

He promised himself he would tell Arthur soon. Before the summer was up; as soon as he plucked up the courage. That gave him a couple months, at least.

"Then I guess we should go," Arthur seemed so flippant about it, now. Merlin could tell when he had made his mind up about something. And while he would have stayed because he knew Arthur wanted to, he would also gladly leave.

He'd had long discussions with Gwen about why it was he liked football and the reasons were as follows: Arthur running; Arthur in shorts; Arthur bending over lots; and it made Arthur happy.

But other people playing football did nothing for him.

They exited through the aisles as quickly as possible, Arthur taking care to grab Merlin's sweets when he forgot them.

"Well. Still got two days left until Monday. What do you fancy?" Arthur asked him when they got back to the rented car.

Of course, it would take about eight hours to make it back and if they started now, they could be home by nightfall. Arthur didn't know if that was what Merlin wanted. They could still stay and see the city. But Merlin looked worn out. Neither of them had been sleeping well.

In daylight hours, they both chalked it up to the fact they weren't sleeping in their own beds. They were just tired, not used to something which wasn't broken in. Springs digging into their sides and all.

But Arthur couldn't spend another night in the same room as him. He hoped to God Merlin didn't want to stay in the hotel again. He didn't think he was disciplined enough and even if he had been, every sane person had their breaking point.

It just so happened that Arthur had reached his about two years ago. Now every minute spent with Merlin was just insane torture.

"Let's go home," Merlin's voice was small. Suddenly he looked more tired than Arthur had ever seen him, save the week where he pulled several double shifts and gave all the school tours.

Arthur started the car and headed off back to the hotel to grab their things.

He felt kind of terrible. He'd promised himself he would tell Merlin in Barcelona. While Merlin didn't know about this, it felt like he was breaking a promise to Merlin as well as to himself.

And that just wouldn't do.


	10. Chapter 10

I would like to thank my most loyal reviewers and/or readers right now and say thanks a bunch! I'm glad you have enjoyed it so much. I love you all long time.

This is the last chapter. You've been warned.

...

Their bikes were waiting behind the gift shop; the car would be returned tomorrow. They each strapped their suitcases above their back tires and peddled tiredly back home.

It was late when they got back but the relief was palpable. Their own beds. Their own comfort zones.

Their vineyard, their home.

Nobody was awake. All the lights in the cabins were out but the vineyard lamps were still on - as always.

When they arrived back, Arthur grabbed his phone from the front table and turned it on.

Seven texts from Gwen.

_I miss you boys already!_

_It's official; Lance has defected!_

_Promise you'll be nice to him._

_God, this place is boring with you two._

_Hope you're having fun. Gwaine is driving me crazy here._

_Please bring Merlin back in one piece. I know what he's like in confined spaces._

_Two more days! I promise not to kill Gwaine if you promise to never leave me again._

He smiled at his phone and at Gwen's restraint. He'd been left alone with Gwaine before. There very well could have been seven hundred text messages by the time he got back.

The problem with Gwaine was, apart from the flirting and the lack of maturity and dignity, was his inability to stay sober two days in a row. His house was a den of debauchery and he usually smelled of the wine he so carefully sold. Granted, he sold more wine than any of them, but he was just a liability waiting to happen.

Not that drunk Gwaine was violent or cruel or even prone to vomiting. He just got a bit sluttier and a tad more annoying to talk to. He felt sorry for Gwaine. And for all the people who'd been trained by him in their absences, including Lance.

In turn, he felt sadly for himself and Merlin, who would have to retrain all the seasonals to ensure no harm would come to their livers.

They crawled up the stairs and separated after they brushed their teeth, each heading into their own bedrooms.

Finally, Arthur thought. He would finally get some sleep.

But the problem was, sleep might as well be a tangible thing and it might as well have been in Mordor right now, for all the good it did him.

And then his mind was off in tangents. For he had never before connected anything in his life to Lord of the Rings and that was just another sign that Merlin had completely mind fucked him to the point of delirium.

He found himself on the porch, where the night air was cool and pleasant on his bare arms. But the night's crispness offered little clarity.

About twenty seconds, or possibly minutes later, Merlin was headed out the door after him. Arthur was grateful he'd pulled his jogging pants on. If he met Merlin with less layers between them, he couldn't be responsible for his actions.

Merlin just looked at him. Arthur thought he looked confused, and then a bit like a deer in headlights, and there he was with the Bambi stuff again and seriously. Seriously. Just fuck it. He took a breath.

"Fancy a walk?" Merlin didn't say anything but he did set off down the porch steps and Arthur followed.

Arthur wasn't counting how long it took them, but he knew it was a twenty three minute walk to the vineyard, and so that's how long it must have been.

Twenty three minutes and they were at the grape pit. He'd told his tour groups a million times, it was Merlin's favorite spot. He wondered if any of them had picked up on his infatuation.

"Merlin-" He stopped himself. He wanted to cry but didn't even know what he ought to be crying for. Nothing had even happened yet.

"Can we get in the pit?" Merlin asked.

"Now? Seriously? Merlin, I hate the pit. It's so unsanitary."

"You just haven't done it properly." He was insistent.

Arthur sighed and went up the few steps to make it over the side. He pulled his shoes off then and rolled his pant legs up. It didn't matter. They would be covered in grape juice forever.

"Look, Arthur. Something's been bothering you all week. Can you just tell me so I can stop worrying? You know I overreact. I've already considered that you have cancer and I just need to know what's wrong." Maybe that was the look he'd seen on Merlin's face countless times this last week. The almost sad and wistful look. He thought Arthur was dying.

He could almost laugh now, because he had thought the same thing himself. Surely no person could LIVE with all of those feelings bottled up for so long.

"I just- I love this one freckle. On your nose."

"A freckle? You're not dying?"

"Not that I know of. I just need to tell you now, before it gets any worse."

"I don't get it." Of course Merlin wouldn't get it. Arthur had to spell everything out for him. But the truth was, his own head was spinning. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, here. In the grapes. He hated the grapes. But Merlin's presence made them different; almost enjoyable.

"I can't lie to you anymore. And if you turn me away, I'll leave you alone forever, I swear. But. You're... All I can think about. You stomp out everything useful in my mind and you replace it with that idiotic grin and I'm so head over heels in love with you that I don't even seem to mind."

When Merlin moved forward, the grapes gave him a bit of resistance but he made it to Arthur all the same. He searched Arthur's face for a hint of a lie. But Arthur had always been shit at lying and Merlin knew that.

"Say it again," his eyes were closed now, and the grapes were sloshing about around his knees.

"I love you." And now Merlin nodded and opened his eyes, looking back at Arthur.

"Had to be sure I was hearing it right," he whispered before leaning into Arthur's mouth and finally.

His lips were on Arthur's and it was something indescribable. In seconds, there were hands in hair and on hips, sliding up under t-shirts and they only pulled back when their need for air overcame their need of melting into the other.

Arthur heard once that falling in love was all the rage; that it happened instantly and lasted forever but with those same people, it was over just as soon and about fifty years sooner than they had originally planned.

As Merlin led him back to their home, fingers entwined, he thought briefly that it wasn't the same with Merlin. It was less instant, the falling part. But the staying in love part... he knew they'd have no problem there.

...

"On your right is what we call The Pit. You may feel free to exit the bus for about fifteen minutes and splash around in the grapes with me. There are galoshes for the squeamish. Now, Merlin says this is the best place on the vineyard. For what it's worth, I'd have to agree with him."

END.


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